


Jerrot drank to forget.

by spanchops



Category: Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett, francis crawford - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 05:47:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13070391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spanchops/pseuds/spanchops
Summary: Jerrot is forced to recognise a truth he would rather not face.





	Jerrot drank to forget.

Jerrot drank to forget. 

There was a sickness in his stomach he could not bear the empty dull torment within him was the feeling of a flawless misery. This though was not as bad as the memory of the look on Marthe’s face. She had laughed at him. “You didn’t know?” Marthe had said. Then even worse, “if you don’t know it, Francis certainly does.” Jerrot squeezed his eyes tightly shut willing the words, those scornful words to be gone. Oh, God. The sickness in the pit of his stomach returned, if there had been a cliff Jerrot would happily have stepped from it. 

Jerrot badly needed to hit something or someone; or at least for someone to hit him. Hades was here and now, tormenting him with unspeakable thoughts he could not face. Reaching for the bottle, blindly he filled the cup. Focussing on the act with a precision designed to banish the recent memories dancing in the peripheral darkness of his mind. Nagging him, refusing to be banished. 

He’d held Francis tight; his hand on his arm. He knew where he’d been, what he’d done. The feeling within him though, was it betrayal? Jerrot opened his eyes wide and stared at the blank wall opposite him – was she right? It was too much. How many others could see it? How many other’s weighed his friendship, his devotion to Lymond as more than it should be? Was it more than it should be? Christ, he didn’t know. 

To have this feeling dragged from within him by Marthe was terrible, but worse was what she had done next. He’d read it in her laughing eyes, “He doesn’t want you.” And he didn’t. He’d seen that in Lymond’s face just before he violently pushed him away. Cold blue eyes holding his, the edge of the mouth twisted and mocking.  
Two terrible inexorably linked truths. Jerrot faced them both, alone. So alone, he wanted to drink and never raise his head again.

“Every saint, you will find has an unholy past and every sinner has a future,” 

The words, that voice ran through his veins like hot wires. Dropping his head, Jerrot fastened his eyes on the table and refused to look up.

“Or would you wish to be delivered from everlasting sin by murdering the deity against whom you have sinned?” 

“Shut up,” Jerrot was forced to sob, his head in his hands. 

Lymond sighed and settled on the end of the table. Jerrot knew that what was coming would be neither tolerable nor pleasant. His hand holding the cup shook. Come on, bloody well get it over with. Jerrot knew better than to answer, he wanted this exchange to be as brief as possible. He had no intention of prolonging his own tormented misery.

“I have, I believe, delivered upon you a somewhat disturbing disappointment.” Lymond reached over and filled Jerrot’s cup from the pitcher. Jerrot knew it was a deliberate, harsh act, as he recoiled from the scents clinging to Lymond’s skin for the second time that night. 

“The world, Brother Jerrot, is not a simple one. Remember your revered and hallowed leader, Gabriel.”

That was too much. “Does that mean you need to debase yourself?” Jerrot gasped.  
Lymond laughed at that. “Have you not just found that you’ve joined us both in that same gutter?”

Jerrot pressed his palms hard into his eyes. “For your sake, leave me.” 

Lymond seemed to hesitate. Then he laid a delicate hand on Jerott’s shoulder and leaning a little closer spoke quietly. “Drown your sorrows, Brother Jerrot. Perhaps it is time to rejoin your order, and offer a lifetime of repentance for a sin that would never be committed.”

Lymond did leave him then and Jerrot finished with hardened expertise what he had set out to achieve. His anger had drowned the painful revelation, as Lymond had meant it to do. Jerrot’s temper was boiling – at that moment he hated Francis more than he hated himself.


End file.
